by K. T. Tomb
He looked back up to her face and was shocked to see flakes of skin fall from her bone structure. The dried skin quickly piled up around her perfectly white skull that now seemed to grin at all of them.
The flakes didn’t last. These too, turned to dust, staining the pillowcase in some places, but mostly disappearing into oblivion.
The stink of decay briefly filled the room and then was gone. Perhaps less than five minutes after her death, Alexey and the remaining hospital staff were staring down at a perfectly white skeleton.
Ramallah IL Eve had made quite an exit from this world.
***
Alexey finished his glass of sherry. The bottle was now more than half gone. He thought more about what happened next. Perhaps the most perplexing of the whole affair was after he had returned to his labs with the skeleton. He had had three local paleoarchaeologists run some discrete tests. Carbon dating had come back from three different sources. All of them had confirmed that the skeleton was over twenty-five hundred years old.
How could this be? She had only recently died. Yet, her bones had calcified and the carbon within them had escaped rapidly enough to fool even the archaeologist’s dating equipment.
Alexey had his own theory on this as well. She should have died over twenty-five hundred years ago. She had defied nature in life and when her time had come and Alexey had finally pulled that plug, her body had reverted to its natural state.
Alexey stood and paced before the hearth, feeling its flame, sweat forming on his brow. Her final words, uttered just four days ago, disturbed him. She had called him the Great Slayer and demanded that he must not remove the Tree of Life. How had she known his plans?
What would happen if the Tree of Life were removed and transplanted elsewhere, say in a controlled environment, where it would get the necessary nourishment? He doubted nothing.
The tree was a marvel, a natural phenomenon that the ancients had happened upon long ago and built their amazing and enduring story around. Yes, the tree gave amazing life and it just might very well be one of a kind, although Alexey suspected there might be more like it. Its ability to react instantly with injuries and even instill life puzzled the hell out of Alexey. He had his best chemists working around the clock at this very moment, trying to figure out how such a reaction worked. He was sure to find the answer, but until then, he needed that tree. He needed more of the oil. The amount they had was just not enough to run continued testing.
He knew the mountain, the obstacles, and he knew his enemy. Religious zealots had made it their unending passion to horde the secrets of the Tree of Life. Well, they had done a hell of a job.
Alexey was ready to take over the reins now.
After all, it was just a tree.
He was just the man to cultivate the product and offer the world relief from their pain and misery, and to increase their lives.
All for a price, of course.
Not to mention, he had no intention of dying as well. Not with sole access to the Tree of Life.
All of which must be kept secret.
Chapter Eleven
Milek now stood before him, sweating profusely from his brow. The room really was much too hot, but Alexey enjoyed seeing his assistant’s discomfort. Milek’s eyes shifted to the fireplace, as if to ask, ‘We are in the middle of an Iranian summer. Why the fire?’
“Are you too warm, Milek?”
“No, sir. It’s just that I came over here to report on the status of the expedition.”
Alexey smiled. “And how goes that?”
“We have now acquired fifty mercenaries, sir, through discreet channels from our sources with the military and local warlords.”
“The mercenaries are Persian?”
“Persian, Kurds, Turks, and even a couple of Americans. We are currently arming them, using the expertise of Captain Shareef, through underground channels. We should be fully armed and ready to go in two days. The mercenaries know nothing, only that they have been hired to protect you.”
“What of the local authorities?”
“There is no authority where we are going. The highlands are empty, save for shepherds and nomads. We will be in ten covered Jeeps and should attract little attention.”
“You did well, Milek.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What of the expert from Israel? When shall we expect her?”
“She arrives tomorrow. I will personally pick her up at the airport.”
Alexey picked up a book on his coffee table. It was thick and well-worn. He had it specially shipped from a used bookstore in Moscow. The name of the author was Sulna Obvesky. The title of the book was The Bible and History. He flipped the book over. The woman looked far too young to be as well-known as she was. By all accounts, she was the leading Biblical historian. Alexey had been shocked when she had agreed to his consulting offer on the expedition. In fact, according to Milek, she had jumped at the chance, and had taken his first offer for payment, although money had been no object at this point.
There was something about the eyes, he thought. They seemed better fit for a woman much older than her young face belied. The woman looked thirty, yet pages of her work filled the internet.
Alexey thought about that and wondered again about her connection to Eden.
Milek, who had been waiting patiently, opened his mouth and was about to speak but then closed it again. More sweat, and a lot of blinking was all he could do. Alexey watched the little man. Milek immediately averted his eyes and now, full rivulets of sweat made their way down his face.
“Is there something on your mind, Milek?”
He coughed once, still looking away. “Do we know what we are dealing with here, sir?”
Alexey frowned and Milek caught the expression from the corner of his eye and winced. Alexey raised his voice. “We are dealing with superstitions and secrets that have been guarded by a selfish lot for many a millennium! The tree is marvelous and the sap is life-giving, but they do not have a right to hoard it from mankind. The time has come, Milek, for the world to know about the oil. I will share it with the world in due time. The secrets of the tree will be unlocked and you will see that they aren’t so awe-inspiring.”
Milek wiped his brow with his thumb. Sweat dripped to the wooden floor. Alexey took a deep breath.
“I am feeling generous. I will give you tomorrow off. Enjoy the city. Find yourself a woman, perhaps. We may be in the highlands for a very long time.”
“That’s indeed very generous of you, sir, but I am happily married.”
Alexey liked to taunt the Russian. “Well, then, enjoy the city. We set out in two days.”
“Yes, sir.”
Milek left as Alexey settled back onto the couch, staring at the flames and decided that he would finish the bottle of sherry tonight. He poured himself another glass, and discovered his hands were shaking slightly.
Chapter Twelve
Knight and Jess were in Dr. Evan Knight’s den. Knight was holding a rag to his head and was mildly alarmed at the amount of blood he was losing. Jessima IL Eve didn’t seem as concerned and instead, was searching through a knapsack on her hip, which had been obscured by the now-discarded black robe, to Knight’s extreme pleasure.
The woman has the body of a goddess, he thought.
“I’m going to need stitches,” he said again, but it was of no use. She wasn’t listening to him. The woman had an amazing capacity to either tune him out or to concentrate fully on the task at hand. He wasn’t sure which. “Oh, I’d say nine stitches. But do you care? No. You’re just glad that I passed whatever damned test it was that you gave me. In the process, you decided to split my head open.” He had worked himself up to the point where he was now standing.
“It is hardly split open. Now sit.” Without looking up, she casually reached out and pushed his chest with the tips of her fingers. He fell back into the recliner.
“Lucky push,” he said, grimacing as the washcloth rubbed the open wound. “I w
as off-balance and weak from the loss of blood.”
“True, you passed my test, Evan Knight, but your whining is causing you to lose ground.”
“I could give a damn what you think, sister—”
She didn’t bother to look up. “I am a Daughter of Eve. Not a sister of yours.”
Knight stared at her, with the washcloth pressed against his forehead. He didn’t know what to think or what to say to that. “You’re going to explain what the hell that means to me sooner rather than later!”
She wasn’t listening again. Now, a look of extreme relief passed through her. From her bag, she extracted a vial of amber-colored liquid. She turned to him and Knight was struck again by the fact that he was living his dream. It was as if she had stepped out from inside his head and was now a living, breathing person. His entire life he had thought he was crazy to be dreaming of the same woman, over and over.
Now, here she was, in the flesh.
“Sit back, Doctor,” she instructed.
She had eased up next to him, leaning over the arm of the recliner. She intended to give him a dose of the amber oil. “What the hell is that?” he asked.
“It’s our own version of stitches.”
She pushed him back onto the recliner and he let her do so, grumbling. Next, she gently removed the washcloth from his wound. She moved surprisingly tenderly. He could feel her breath on his neck. It was exciting. Too exciting. He could smell her as well. As she had worked up a sweat in the studio, busy trying to kill him, he could smell the sweat on her flesh, but there was something else unknown there. She smelled of wildflowers tinged with a spice that brought back memories of his travels to the Middle East. He was clueless as to its origins, but he liked it a lot.
Now, she was doing something to the cut, applying the oil perhaps. He couldn’t tell and he didn’t really care. Her forearm brushed his cheek. Each tender touch sent uncontrollable shivers through him. Knight had always loved women who were lean and muscular. His dream woman had been lean and muscular. Now, here she was, standing over him, doctoring a wound she had caused. His dream woman. The very archetype of his ideal woman was in the flesh before him.
Maybe I’m still dreaming, he thought. Maybe this entire night is a dream.
A shot of pain raced across his forehead and he flinched.
“Sorry,” she said, he could feel her breath on his ear.
Nope, he thought, almost smiling. I’m not dreaming.
Now, she was using the rag to gently wipe the blood from his forehead. Knight closed his eyes and this time, he did smile.
Easy, Doctor, he thought. Get control of yourself. You need answers before you explore those feelings.
“It is done,” she said and stepped away from him. He was sorry to see her go.
“What is done?”
She grinned. He loved her grin. She rarely grinned in his dreams. “It appears you won’t need stitches after all.”
Knight frowned, then pushed himself out of the recliner and moved quickly over to the mirror that hung above his key ring rack. What he saw staring back at him, or more accurately, what he didn’t see, made him blink in confusion. The cut was gone. There was nothing there, save for a faint scar. He leaned in closer, rubbing a finger over the skin. Not even a bump.
She stepped behind him. He could see her in the mirror and he could see a touch of humor in her blue eyes. “You will have a scar, unfortunately, Doctor. The oil is good, but it does not remove scars. Whether or not you choose to tell people that you received the scar from a woman is up to you. You could always tell them, I suppose, that you were in a sledding accident as a kid.”
Knight turned on her. He had worked himself up. “I’m glad you find all this amusing, but the time has come for answers, sister!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward the couch. She didn’t move and he lost his grip. It was like trying to pull a truck.
“You wish me to follow you?” she asked innocently.
This time he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Damn straight,” he said. She gasped with surprise, and he was shocked that she let him carry her and didn’t knee him in the face, or worse. He was still tender there from earlier. At the couch, he dropped her in the corner and she landed with a small squeak, glaring up at him. He was amused to see that her anger seemed forced. More startled than anything.
“I have never been treated in such a way—”
“Until I get some answers, get used to it, sister.”
“I have killed men for far less—”
“Shut your trap! I want you to listen to me!”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. He reached over with his finger and gently closed her mouth. She was angry, but she remained quiet. He was glad she didn’t put up a fight.
“Good. I want to know who you are. I want to know what that oil was that you used to heal my cut. I want to know why I’ve been dreaming about the Garden of Eden my entire life.” He paused, gazing at her beautiful face, a face he had never thought he would ever meet in the flesh. True, he had hoped and searched for her his entire life, but he did not think dreams really came true. Especially his. He lowered his voice and it trembled slightly with emotion, although he fought to control that. “Most important, I want to know why I’ve been dreaming about you ever since I can remember.”
Chapter Thirteen
Never in her life had she been literally manhandled.
As he carted her toward the couch, slung over his shoulder like the Neanderthal he was, Jess could only conclude that it was a strange feeling to be at the mercy of someone else, especially a mortal male. Obviously, she could have done some damage to him from that position, but she chose not to and allowed herself to experience the new sensation.
He didn’t have to drop her like a sack of potatoes. She might have to get him back for that. The moment she thought this, a secret pleasure surged through her. She was always game for a little innocent revenge. Life got boring after a few centuries, holed up in a forgotten mountain.
Jess also realized that she would not have given herself up to just anybody. The male was, after all, the Chosen One, no matter how much it displeased her. He had proven himself in battle, although his moment of weakness was unforgivable. He had no reason to kill her and he chose not to, even when she had faltered at the sight of the Garden painting. He was clearly strong, slinging her six-foot, four-inch frame over his shoulder like it was nothing and she respected that as well.
She trusted the man. His motivations were simple. He wanted answers and appeared to be looking for nothing else. At least, for now. Jessima was well aware of the nature of man. She had disposed of many who had come on to her during the course of her world travels for information and knowledge.
The male clearly had strong emotional reactions, and her heart, which was buried deep beneath her warrior exterior, went out to him, but she wouldn’t show him that.
When he was done with his speech, he stood over her, arms folded, waiting for answers. The only problem was that she wasn’t ready to give them yet.
“I’m hungry, mortal. What do you have here to eat?”
“Eat? I have nothing here to eat.”
She tapped her fingers on the wooden arm of his couch. Her nails were short and hard.
He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his shoulders. “Fine. I should call the cops and have you arrested for breaking and entering, but instead, I’ll order you a pizza.”
Her stomach grumbled at the thought. She had long ago fallen in love with the Italian pizza pie. She had not had the American version since her last visit, forty years earlier. She smiled. “I love pizza.”
“I’m sure you do.” He walked over to his kitchen and removed a wall-mounted phone. He then proceeded to dial a number from a magnet attached to his refrigerator. He squinted as he leaned in close to see the number. He didn’t bother turning on the kitchen light. He seemed to prefer darkness. She, too, preferred darkness, having spent eons within the tunnel network of t
he mountain she called home. Although the tunnels were now lighted with sophisticated track lighting, some of the lesser used-offshoots were still lit by wall-mounted torches.
He stepped into the living room with his hand over the phone’s speaker. “What do you want on it?”
“What do you mean?”
“What toppings do you want on your pizza?”
“Everything, mortal. Everything they have and tell them to hurry. I am impatient for the pizza pie.”
He shook his head and stepped back into the kitchen. “Put everything on it, mort—” He caught himself and Jessima stifled a laugh. “Just give us the supreme, okay?”
He finished the order and stepped back into the living room. “They will rush it, your highness, in approximately forty minutes.”
“That is hardly rushing.”
It was his turn to smile. “Sorry, sister, but that’s the best they can do.”
He pulled up the coffee table until it was directly in front of her. He sat down just feet from her. “Now, Jessima IL Eve, will you please tell me what the hell is going on around here?”
Despite the hunger that raged through her, which was a side effect of the oil, she understood his need for answers. He sat before her, hands together, dark eyes lost in the muted half-light of the room. She could detect a faint wet gleam and she knew that he was desperate.
“First,” she said, “I am known as Jess to those who know me. You now qualify as one of the few who know of me.”
“Lucky me,” he said.
She ignored the sarcasm. “Second, we will be spending a lot of time together, so I will tell you all that you need to know. I have some answers, but I do not have them all. Guardians were not given answers. We were given a job. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“First, let me ask you a question,” she paused, thinking back to the portrait of herself in the painting. “How is it that you seem to know me? Why do you state that you’ve been waiting your entire life for me?”